


Bleed (With Honour, Die With Dignity)

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, blood+!au, shortened the story a lot lol, smut scene isn't that explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 08:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11574159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Sehun doesn't remember anything beyond the past few years of his life. What happens when a quiet, mysterious cello player who saves his life once, maybe twice, seems to have all the answers to the questions Sehun never knew he had?





	Bleed (With Honour, Die With Dignity)

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the anime Blood+; differences with the anime is 100% intended.  
> If you have any questions about the AU, feel free to ask me!

Twenty-three year old Oh Sehun is a full-time university student. He manages to keep a GPA of at least a 3.5 every single year, is involved in the student union, and is part of the varsity volleyball team for the third year. Everyone seems to think that he’s got it together, that he’s set for the future, that he’s prepared for anything that’s to come.

Oh, little do they know.

 

 

 

  
“Hey, Cello Dude’s looking at you again,” Jongdae says, elbowing Sehun in the ribs as they cross the street towards the direction of their campus. Glancing over to the nearest bench, Sehun locks eyes with the Cello Dude – as Jongdae’s taken to calling him –, and like every day for the past three months, Sehun gets a nagging feeling in his stomach. _I know him_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know him.

“You say that every single day,” Sehun replies, looking away. Jongdae snorts.

“Because he looks at you every single day. And do you not remember that one time you were talking so much you ran into that lamp-post and he ran over so quickly just to make sure you were alright?”

Rolling his eyes, Sehun hikes his backpack higher up onto his shoulder and continues walking.

“You should go say hi,” Jongdae continues. “He looks like he really wants you to go say hi.”

“Stop meddling,” Sehun sighs, “just because he looks at me and checked to make sure I didn’t have a concussion doesn’t mean he’s interested in me. What if he’s a murderer?”

“Yes, he kills people with his cello bow,” Jongdae says flatly. “After he serenades them and tends to any existing wounds.”

Sehun bursts out laughing. The low, yet soft, melody from the cello trails after him as he rounds a corner.

 

 

 

  
“Sehun-ah, don’t forget to drop your dirty clothes into the washer,” Junmyeon calls from the kitchen.

“I got it,” Sehun answers, rummaging around in his sports bag for his used volleyball uniform. He hunts for his socks, but his fingers don’t seem to find them. Pulling out all the other items, he finds himself faced with an empty bag.

“Shit, I left my shoes at school.”

“Eh, don’t you need them for the game tomorrow?” Jongdae asks, looking up from his manga.

“Yeah,” Sehun sighs. “I’ll have to go back and get them.”

“It’s getting late, can’t you just get them tomorrow?”

“We have to leave really early; it takes an hour and a half to get there. I don’t want to risk it. I’ll bike there, won’t take me long.”

Junmyeon sticks his head out of the kitchen. “Hurry up, dinner will be ready in twenty.”

“I’ll hurry,” Sehun promises, and gives Jongdae’s hair a big ruffle as he heads out the door.

 

 

 

  
Apart from the few janitorial staff Sehun spots here and there and a handful of professors who have stayed behind to work, the campus is void of people. The gym is on the other side of a relatively large campus, so Sehun speeds up his pedalling – if he’s late for dinner, Jongdae’s going to eat all of it.

Propping his bike up against a campus emergency phone booth, Sehun jogs into the gym and heads straight for the set of bleachers on the right. He always tucks his shoe bag underneath the first row of seats – ah, there it is. Just as he straightens up, shoe bag in hand, he hears the heavy doors to the gym swing open.

“Anyone in here?” A flashlight clicks on.

“Ah, I forgot my shoes in the gym,” Sehun calls, squinting against the bright beam of light. He drops the strap of his shoe bag onto his shoulder. “Just came back to get it.”

The janitor lowers his flashlight. Sehun can see the janitor’s jaw opening, but before any other words can come out, a long, thick pair of mauled arms come shooting down from above the door frame. The flashlight tumbles out of the janitor’s grasp as he’s yanked upwards, and for a few seconds, all Sehun can hear are the muted sounds of a scuffle. His feet stay glued to the ground – there’s a steady stream of fear rushing through his veins.

Then, a loud thud echoes throughout the empty gym as the janitor falls down to the ground. Alarmed, Sehun forces himself to sprint over to the janitor’s lifeless body.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sehun says urgently, turning the janitor over onto his back. When the moonlight hits the janitor’s face, Sehun falls back on his ass, shocked. The janitor’s face is horrifyingly pale, as if all the blood in his body has been drained. Sehun’s eyes land on a bloody mark on the janitor’s neck – it’s a bite mark.

“Hey!” Sehun demands, much louder this time. His heart’s pounding so loudly that he can barely hear himself speak. He shakes the janitor roughly, but the only response he receives is the flopping of limbs.

A shadow is cast overhead, and Sehun freezes. He hears movement, but he refuses to glance upwards. _Is this how I’ll die?_ Squeezing his eyes shut, Sehun tries to swallow past the dry lump in his throat.

The cold, sharp point of a claw scrapes along his scalp, and it sends shivers running down his spine. The claw lifts, but Sehun knows it’ll return, along with many others. He braces himself for the pain, the puncturing of skin, the slow draining of his blood –

Something dashes past him and up onto the roof of the gym, and Sehun hears a pained growl before a large mass crashes into the row of neatly trimmed bushes across from him. He scrambles to his feet in time to see the beast rise from amongst the shrubbery.

“Sehun,” a gentle voice says, “please step back.”

Sehun spins around to see who the fuck is talking to him; his gaze lands on none other than Cello Dude.

“Who are you? Why do you know my name? What the hell is that? Why –”

Sehun blinks, and Cello Dude is no longer standing where he was a second ago. Instead, he’s up in the fact of the beast, cello case serving as a shield from those sharp, sharp teeth.

“I suggest you run,” Cello Dude says, glancing over his shoulder.

That is a good idea, Sehun tells himself, a very good idea. So he runs, sprinting across the lawn into the arts building. It’s not until he’s nearing the front steps does he hear the heavy thud of a beast’s footsteps right behind him.

“Get inside,” Cello Dude says, magically appearing in front of him, one hand on the now open door. Sehun runs inside and doesn’t stop to question him.

Once inside, Cello Dude slams the door shut and locks it. Setting his cello case down on the ground, he opens it and takes out a handful of small, sharp daggers. Each one has a small ruby nestled in the hilt.

“What –”

Cello Dude opens a hidden compartment and takes out a delicate katana.

“This is yours,” Cello Dude says. “Take it.” He passes the weapon over with a bandaged hand.

“What?”

“Use it to fight,” is the reply.

“What the fuck _am_ I fighting?”

Cello Dude doesn’t answer him. The doors rattle in the frame as the beast slams against it, and Sehun knows it’ll give way in a few seconds. So he sprints towards the stairs, Cello Dude hot on his heels.

He finds cover behind a few huge canvases. Crouching down, he clutches the katana to his chest as if it were a lifeline. Cello Dude stays beside him, gaze steady on the side of his face.

“They can sniff us out,” Cello Dude says quietly. “You’ll have to fight them at some point. Only your blood can kill them.”

Sehun stares at him. “ _My blood?_ ”

Cello Dude opens his mouth to respond, but a loud smash interrupts, and various art supplies are sent flying all around the dark room as the beast enters with a roar. With a single swipe of its arm, Sehun finds himself airborne for a single heartbeat, before his head collides with the edge of a table. Everything goes pitch black.

Across the room, Cello Dude swears under his breath and attempts to make his way over to Sehun, sending a couple of daggers soaring straight into the beast’s eyes as he moves. As the beast laments over its injuries, temporarily blind, Cello Dude reaches Sehun’s side. Tugging the bandage around his hand loose with his teeth, Cello Dude uses one of his daggers to slide open the tough skin on his palm and lifts it to his lips.

Blood collects in his mouth, on his tongue, between his teeth. As his wound begins to heal, he reaches out and lifts Sehun’s chin. With a thumb, he pushes Sehun’s jaw down and leans in to fit his lips over Sehun’s. Blood trickles from mouth to mouth.

When he’s passed all the blood he can into Sehun, Cello Dude sits back and waits. He ignores the imminent danger of the beast in the room in favour of watching over Sehun as the blood enters his system.

After a few moments, Sehun’s body starts spasming. Cello Dude looks down at his deformed hand; the wound has long healed, leaving behind no trace of a scar. On the floor, Sehun’s back arches painfully, his brow furrows in pain, and his mouth opens in a silent scream.

Cello Dude flings the dagger in his hands towards the beast – it strikes between the eyes.

Then:

Sehun opens his eyes, and they glow an illuminating silver. A hand closes around the hilt of the katana, and he unsheathes it with a swift pull. Flesh from his thumb presses against the sharp edge near the base, and skin splits. Blood spills into a groove carved out along the flat side of the blade, and the liquid flows through the channel towards the tip. A drop beads before falling to the ground.

The katana rests comfortably in Sehun’s grasp, as though it belongs nestled within his fingers. It whistles through the air as Sehun runs towards the beast, as he leaps over toppled chairs and easels, as he tears the blade through tough skin and organs.

Sehun keeps slashing at the monster, even when it has collapsed at his feet, even when its flesh hardens into stone and shatters into ruby red crystals. He only stops when he feels a hand covering his own.

“Sehun, it’s over.”

It takes a minute or two for Sehun to return to his senses, the silver in his irises slowly fading back into a dark brown. The blood in his katana is gone, but the weight of the weapon is still heavy in his hands. He remembers every single thing he’d just done, remembers killing.

The katana clatters to the ground.

“What just happened?” He asks hoarsely. “What did I just do? Who are you? Who – _what am I?_ ”

“My name is Kim Jongin.”

Sehun waits for more, but it becomes clear that Jongin won’t answer any other questions.

“And?” He prompts.

“And I exist to protect you, to watch over you, to serve you.”

Sehun blinks.

“I… don’t need you to do that. Did someone hire you as a prank? Is this a prank? If it is you can drop the act.”

At that, Jongin looks… hurt.

“It’s not a prank, Sehun. I dedicate my life to serving you, and I have been doing so for the past hundred years.”

Sehun barks in stunned laughter. “A _hundred_ years? I’m twenty-three! You don’t look much older than I do either. That lie a little hard for me to believe, dude.”

“I don’t lie,” Jongin says, “especially not to you. You don’t remember anything before you started college, do you?”

Sehun pauses. “How do you know that?”

Jongin simply gazes at him.

“Do you know what happened to me before I lost my memory?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me!”

Jongin glances away. “I cannot. Those memories are something you have to remember by yourself. I’m sorry.”

Confused, Sehun takes a step closer. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“It’s better if you remembered on your own,” Jongin says firmly. “And it’s late; you should probably head home now.”

A glance at his watch confirms that it’s way past dinner time. Cursing, Sehun runs a hand through his messy head of hair and heads towards the door. He steps on a piece of red crystal along the way, and he flinches so hard that he knocks his shoulder into a shelf stocked with art supplies.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Jongin. Sehun leaves, and Jongin watches quietly from a window as Sehun pauses next to the pale janitor before getting on his bike and pedalling as fast as he possibly can.

Sighing, Jongin takes out a mobile phone and presses a few keys.

“We need clean up at Sehun’s school,” he says, “there’s been an attack.”

 

 

 

  
For two weeks, Sehun pretends that everything that had happened at the gym that night were figments of his imagination. Apart from being horribly distracted at his volleyball match the day after, he succeeds in acting normal; no one seems to notice the shadows under his eyes, obtained after countless sleepless nights. Still manages to focus in class, to focus in practice, to focus on forgetting.

The façade holds until the wall between Sehun’s cell biology lecture hall and the hallway crumbles into a heap when something heavy crashes through it. Even before Sehun’s eyes land on the creature, he feels his stomach drop to his feet.

Screams fill the lecture hall, and there’s a flurry of limbs as students rush to exit the room. Some fall, having been pushed, and Sehun watches in horror as a student, on his back, gets swooped up into a large, clawed hand and into a mouth filled with rows of sharp teeth. Blood sprays everywhere as the carotid artery gets punctured, but the beast doesn't let another drop go to waste.

“Sehun,” a familiar voice calls.

“Jongin,” Sehun answers shakily, eyes still trained on the beast. The student in its hands gives a weak jerk of his fingers.

“Here,” Jongin offers, walking up to him with his hand extended. Sehun finally looks away from the beast and down at Jongin’s hand, blood seeping from a cut across his palm. A pause, then he yells in fear and backs away.

“Your hand. You’re one of them,” he says, voice rough. “You’re –”

“ _We’re_ one of them,” Jongin corrects. His gunmetal eyes turn solemn. “But we’re also different from them.”

He sets something down on the table in front of them, and Sehun recognises it as the katana he wielded.

“We need your help, Sehun,” Jongin says, glancing over his shoulder at the drinking beast. The student’s almost ghostly white. “We need your help fighting Sixte.”

“Who –” Something flashes in Sehun’s mind; an image of himself as a child, sitting cross-legged on a rug, fire burning in the fireplace behind him. He’s got a pile of playing blocks in front of him, and on the other side of the pile is a mirror image of himself. Except that child has silver hair and blue eyes. He smiles at the other child, and he gets a smile in return, complete with sharp canines.

When the lecture hall swims back into view, Sehun sucks in a shaky breath, inflating his flattened lungs. That was too vivid, too real, too –

“Drink,” Jongin’s voice interrupts, and Sehun feels something wet pressing against his lips. He opens his lips instinctively, and it isn’t until he’s swallowed that he recognises the metallic taste on his tongue.

He wants to retch, wants to bring the blood back up, wants to run away.

But before he can, everything illuminates. He can see faint, purple tendrils that seem to hone in on the beast in front of him, see a faint glow around Jongin’s silhouette, see everything sharper, better.

His mind’s clearer and sharper, and… it seems as though he’s got a goal?

“What do I need to do?” He asks softly. Jongin looks at him knowingly.

“Your blood kills them,” Jongin reminds him. Sehun vaguely remembers the faint prick of pain along the pad of his thumb a couple of weeks ago. “There’s a groove in your sword that serves as a channel for your blood. It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough.”

Sehun reaches out for the katana, unsheathes it, and runs his gaze down the length of the blade. As he presses the pad of his thumb over the starting point of the groove;

Another image flashes in his mind’s eye – it’s himself, looking just like he does now, eyes a scarily bright silver, and his entire body is covered in blood. But none of it is his own, apart from the trickle flowing down his blade.

He watches himself lift the blade, watches as he runs through a crowd of people, watches as he kills every single one of them.

He’s knocked out of his trance when Jongin picks up him around the waist – easily, as if he were a balloon – and dashes to the other side of the hall. Setting Sehun down on his feet, Jongin turns around and punches the beast so hard it smashes through another wall.

“This is what happens when those dumbasses say that he has to remember by himself,” Jongin mutters, pulling out his daggers. “He remembers at the worst times.”

With one last glance over his shoulder at Sehun, who’s frozen on the spot, Jongin leaps towards the beast with inhuman power and speed. The constant sounds of either Jongin or the beast crashing into furniture and the floor brings Sehun back to the present.

Jongin’s sent flying into the whiteboard with an angry swipe of an arm, and Sehun feels an innate jolt of panic for Jongin’s wellbeing.

“Jongin!” He shouts, grip tightening around the hilt of his katana. Digging the pad of his thumb into the blade, Sehun lets the metal drink his blood.

He runs, runs towards Jongin, runs towards the beast, runs because his heart is telling him to. When he lifts his blade to fight, everything else seems to disappear. All he sees is his target, all he feels is the weight of the weapon in his hands, and all he wants to do is kill.

Jongin adapts his movements around Sehun’s as they fight, flesh clashing against metal in a bid for life. The battle ends almost abruptly, Sehun driving the tip of his sword into the beast’s skull with all the might he can muster.

When it crumbles at their feet, Sehun slowly turns to face Jongin, the glow in his eyes ebbing away with each breath.

“I don’t know what happening, and I don’t actually want to know, but I feel like I have to know.”

Jongin hesitates, gaze flicking between Sehun’s face and the stony corpse.

“I can’t,” Jongin says, frowning. “They don’t want me to.”

“Who?”

“I can’t –”

“You know what, just tell me. This is ridiculous; I’m expected to fight these… God knows what they are, and my blood is supposedly the _only_ thing that can kill them, which means I’m literally the only person alive that can fight these things and actually accomplish something – and you guys aren’t telling me the important things I need to know in order to help you! _Just tell me._ I’ll take the fall for you.”

Jongin studies the college student standing before him, steel irises piercing deep into Sehun’s soul. Sighing, Jongin crouches down and reaches for his cello case. He starts slotting each dagger back into place.

“What do you remember?”

“I remember someone who looks just like me, when we were kids. But he had… silver hair. And blue eyes. And I remember being covered in blood, standing amongst a lot of dead bodies.” Sehun pales considerably.

Jongin stays silent for a moment.

“They’re called Chiropterans,” he finally says. “Much like the fabled vampires of the human world. Just like vampires, they need blood to survive, but unlike vampires, they’re not vulnerable to the sun, or garlic, or holy water; just the blood of Chiropteran Queens.”

“Chiropteran Queens? Wait, you’re telling me that –”

“You are a Chiropteran Queen,” Jongin says slowly, as if afraid of scaring Sehun away. “One of two.”

“The other…”

“Is your twin brother, Sixte. He’s the one we need to kill.”

Sehun lets out a hollow, disbelieving laugh. “Impossible. None of this –”  
  
“There is a reason why you don’t remember anything from before you started university. You don’t even remember how you got to this country, do you?”

Under Sehun’s blazing stare, Jongin pushes on.

“You were brought out from your thirty year sleep prematurely. What resulted was a massacre and the loss of your memory.”

Sliding the katana back into its scabbard, Sehun props it up against Jongin’s cello case and backs away.

“No,” he says, voice cracking. “None of this is possible. This is some ridiculous prank you’ve got going on here –”

“You are my Queen,” Jongin interrupts, slowly wrapping up his deformed hand. “And I am your Chevalier. As your Chevalier, I am never to lie to you. My duty is to protect you, to watch over you, to serve you –”

“Yeah, you’ve already said that – wait, what’s a –”

“So I would never say anything that would harm you. You wanted the truth, and this is it.”

A soft ringing shatters Sehun’s fragile state of disbelief. Jongin gives Sehun one last searching look before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a mobile phone.

“Hello?”

A pause.

“Yes, there’s been an attack at his university again. Please send – thank you.”

Another pause.

“He’s remembering, slowly. Yes, I shall try my best.”

He hangs up.

“I need… time,” Sehun mumbles, backing away until the small of his back hits the edge of a desk.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin says, “but we don’t have time. Sixte has been working to create an army of Chiropterans over the past few years, in an attempt to ‘cleanse the world of inferior beings’. We’ve been trying to defeat him by ourselves, or at least until your memory came back of its own accord, but we can no longer afford to wait. There’s been an exponential increase in Chiropteran attacks over the past few months, and there simply aren’t enough of us to combat the growing numbers of Chiropterans in the city, much less the rest of the world.”

“I regret everything,” Sehun declares, after taking a moment to digest all the information being thrown at him.

 

 

 

  
“The organization is called Exodus,” Jongin says, leaning against the wall as individuals in white hazmat suits file into the destroyed lecture hall and start disposing of the dead Chiropteran. Another group starts putting the lecture hall back into its original state, replacing broken tables and screwing in new chairs.

“It exists to fight against Sixte and his plans.”

“Why do I have to fight my own… brother?”

“It’s unfortunate,” Jongin agrees, “but despite coming from the same womb, your ideologies turned out to be vastly different.”

“Why?”

Jongin’s eyes shutter shut. “I think that is something you should remember by yourself. It’s not necessary information to divulge in regards to what we have to do; and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sehun looks down at his feet, eyes downcast and mind whirring.

“I have to go,” Jongin says, picking up the cello case by his feet. “But if you ever need anything, just shout my name and I will be there for you.”

Jongin leaves, but not before glancing over his shoulder at his forlorn Queen. It breaks his already fractured heart just a little bit more.

 

 

 

  
When Sehun wakes up from a nightmare on the fifth night in a row, he flings back his bedcovers and makes a beeline for Junmyeon’s room.

“Wuzzat? Sehun, what’s –”

“Where did you find me?” Sehun demands, not bothering to keep his voice low. From the other side of the room, Jongdae stirs.

“Find you?”

“When you took me in. Where did you find me?”

“Is there a reason you’re asking?” Junmyeon sounds wide awake now, and he swings his legs out of bed.

“I’m trying to figure out my past,” Sehun replies. “There have been… things happening recently, and I want to see how I fit into all of it. I need answers. Do you have some for me?”

Junmyeon exchanges a look with Jongdae, who had woken up not long ago.

“You were entrusted to us,” Junmyeon answers carefully.

“By?”

“As of this moment, it has not been agreed that you should learn that information.”

Groaning in frustration, Sehun leans forward and places both palms next to Junmyeon’s seated frame.

“Look, I don’t have time for all this secrecy bullshit. People around me are dying at the hands of some weird-as-fuck creatures, and I’ve been told that I am the only one who can –”

“Alright, alright.” Junmyeon interrupts. “Put some clothes on. We’re going out.”

 

 

 

  
The moon is still hanging high in the night sky when they arrive at the shipping docks.

Junmyeon leads them through a maze of cargo containers before stopping next to a rusting crane and a line of peeling, blue containers.

At Junmyeon’s nod, Jongdae climbs into the seat of the crane and fiddles with the controls. After a moment, Sehun watches with amazement as the door of the second container from the left slides open soundlessly.

“This is headquarters,” Junmyeon says, heading inside. “Welcome to Exodus.”

“ _You’re_ –”

“Well, we couldn’t simply pass off a Chiropteran Queen to just anyone, could we?”

Sehun turns around at the sound of a voice he doesn’t recognise.

“Welcome, Sehun. I’m Minseok, the Head of Operations. Junmyeon’s our leader; it made sense to place you under his care. Sounds like a cool job and all, but he has to do all the paperwork. Jongdae here is part of our tactical team. If you’ll follow me, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team.”

Still shellshocked, Sehun finds himself unable to move his feet until Jongdae nudges him in the small of his back.

Sehun follows Minseok through fluorescent-lit hallways, eyes landing on piles and piles of weaponry, stacks of papers, and a bunch of laptops as they walk.

“This is Yixing,” Minseok says, gesturing to a figure hunched over a desk that’s holding three computers. “He’s our tech guy. Anything remotely technologically complicated gets sent to him.”

“Hello!” Yixing exclaims, spinning around in his seat at the sound of Minseok’s voice. He waves, and Sehun notices that both his hands are… made of metal.

“What happened to your hands?”

“Oh, they got bit off by one of Sixte’s Chevaliers,” Yixing grimaces, rolling up his sleeves to show Sehun that the bionic limbs stop at his elbows. “This isn’t too bad though; I can type for days on end without needing to rest. Well, my fingers don’t need to rest, I mean. I still need to –”

“Okay!” Minseok exclaims, “let’s move on!” Wait, Sehun _still_ doesn’t know what a Chevalier is.

A few metres down and they bump into a bickering pair. One of them has an IV strapped to him, and there’s blood slowly flowing out of him and into a blood bag.

“Chanyeol and Baekhyun are part of our reconnaissance team. They can also be super annoying.”

“We don’t appreciate that!” They shout in unison, before turning back to each other and their argument.

“What’s with the blood?”

“Oh, we take turns donating blood for Jongin’s use. He needs human blood to live, but because he doesn’t hunt humans, this is the only way he can feed on human blood.”

Rolling his eyes at the antics of Chanyeol and Baekhyun, Minseok gestures for Sehun to follow him into the next room.

“And this is Kyungsoo, our firearm expert. He’s incredibly skilled at essentially every single firearm you throw at him. He, along with Jongdae and I, will usually be the ones to accompany you and Jongin on missions.”

Kyungsoo inclines his head at Sehun and returns to cleaning out a pistol. Before Sehun can speak, a soft thud sounds from the roof.

“Ah, that would be Jongin. He probably sensed how overwhelmed you are. I think he’s also a wee bit mad at us for holding off on telling you all this. He’s been trying to convince us that telling you everything at the beginning would be the best method to move forward. I guess we should have listened to him.”

 

 

 

Jongin’s presence is oddly familiar behind him, and in a brief moment of comfort, Sehun voices his desire to know about his past. They’re standing atop the row of cargo containers, just the two of them.

“I can bring you to your first home,” Jongin says quietly. A breeze runs through the strands of their hair.

“You will?”

“If that is what you want,” Jongin replies, bowing his head.

Soft notes from Jongin’s cello keep them company through the night, and they remain under the watchful eye of the moon until she retires and hands the reins over to the sun.

 

 

 

  
“Shall we depart, Sehun?”

“What – now? But I have classes, and –”

“Those details have already been sorted out with your school,” Chanyeol says cheerily, a drop of milk trickling down his chin. “You’ve been excused until further notice!”

Kyungsoo grimaces at the mess.

“Oh.”

“If we leave now, we will be able to make it there before dawn.”

 

 

 

  
“We’re travelling like this?!”

Sehun clutches onto the collar of Jongin’s coat for dear life, although Jongin’s hold on him is extremely stable. It feels safe, in Jongin’s arms. Jongin looks down at Sehun worriedly.

“Is this uncomfortable for you? You’ve never said anything about that in the past, so I assumed this would be okay; I’m sorry if I –”

“It’s not uncomfortable,” Sehun mumbles, “just… weird.”

Jongin’s got Sehun in a bridal hold, strong arms underneath wide shoulders and the curve of his knees. When Sehun chances a look up at the enigmatic man, he’s surprised to see a tinge of sadness in his dark eyes.

“Weird?” Jongin echoes, seemingly to himself. Then, with a sigh, Jongin turns to face the ocean. “Hold on tight.”

There’s the sound of fabric ripping, and Sehun watches in surprise and awe as a great pair of black wings unfurl from Jongin’s back. One swoop, and they’re airborne. At the beginning, Sehun clings onto Jongin for dear life, but as time passes, the (scary) novelty of the experience begins to wear off. Jongin is so solid, so present next to him, that Sehun slowly feels the nerves fading away. The city lights are mere pinpricks beneath them, and the moon is uncharacteristically big, as if Sehun will be able to brush it with his fingers if he reaches out just a little more.

Eventually, Sehun dozes off, the steady flapping of Jongin’s wings lulling him into a deep sleep. For the first time in a long time, Sehun doesn’t dream.

 

 

 

  
Jongin looks down at his sleeping Queen; the guilt he feels in regards to his role in Sehun’s memory loss wells up once more, and he has to muster all his energy to force it back down. It burns in his gut.

“I’m so sorry,” Jongin whispers, his words carried away by the wind before they have the chance to reach Sehun’s ears. “Please come back to me.”

 

 

 

  
“Sehun,” Jongin says softly, landing on a field gently. “We’re here.”

His wings, a little tired from their long journey, fold themselves against his back and slowly disappear into his skin. He can feel the wind against his bare back through the holes in his shirt.

Snuffling, Sehun turns his face into Jongin’s chest and yawns. Jongin closes his eyes; the sight reminds him of their past, the past that Sehun doesn’t remember, and it’s a sharp stab to the heart.

“We’re here?”

“Yes. We’re at the Zoo.”

At that word, Sehun freezes.

His eyes glaze over, and Jongin watches over him as he experiences another flashback.

 

 

 

  
Nine years old. Sehun sees a younger version of himself running through a lavish garden, around an elaborate fountain, up a wide stone walkway. He sees himself run towards an elderly man, watches as he gives the man a hug and a wide smile. Father?

“Sehun, meet Jongin,” the man says, and Sehun watches his younger self peer at the boy hiding behind the elderly man. “He’s here to be your friend.”

 

 

 

  
The memory fades, and for a split second, Sehun is brought back to his current reality, pressed up against Jongin’s sturdy body. But then, another memory surfaces.

 

 

 

  
He’s older in this memory, looks just like he does now, although with shorter hair.

He watches as his younger self leaves the house, an equally younger Jongin in tow, dressed in a suit very similar to the one he wears now.

“I want to pick a bouquet of flowers for Dad,” his younger self says. “One of his favourite flower.” Jongin smiles at him. Sehun feels his heart stutter; he’s never seen Jongin smile before. Well, clearly he has, but not that he remembers.

“Let me get the flowers,” Jongin says, peering over the edge of the cliff that they end up at. “It’s a little steep.”

So Sehun – and his younger self – watch as Jongin climbs down over the edge and reaches for a couple of blossoms. Jongin reaches; his fingers curl around the stems, the stems break free from the roots, and the rocks under Jongin’s feet crumble to dust.

Sehun screams as Jongin disappears from view, the flowers tossed into the air. He wonders if screaming in his memory means screaming in real life, too.

 

 

 

  
“Jongin, oh God, Jongin please.” Sehun can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and he watches as his younger self try fruitlessly to stop the blood from flowing out of the gaping wound in Jongin’s head.

But then, his younger self pauses, reaches shakily into Jongin’s pocket, and pulls out a pocketknife. Flipping the blade open, he sinks the edge into his palm and slices it open. Before more blood is lost to the earth, he lifts his hand, sets the edge of his palm against his lips, and collects blood in his mouth.

Sehun can only watch. He doesn’t think he’s breathing.

Then, his younger self leans over Jongin and fits their mouths together.

A few heartbeats later, Jongin opens his mouth and screams soundlessly in pain. His body convulses, his veins turn a startling purple underneath his skin, and his wounds begin to heal.

 

 

 

  
Gasping for air as though he’d just spent an hour underwater, Sehun forces his eyes to open, and he reaches out to grab desperately at Jongin’s shoulders.

“I took your life from you,” he cries, face buried in Jongin’s chest. “You nearly died for me and I brought you back just to make you live forever, to live a life that never ends.”

Jongin simply holds him, bandaged hand a comforting weight on the back of Sehun’s neck.

“I’m so sorry, Jongin. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” Jongin replies softly. “As your Chevalier, that means I get to be with you forever. You said you wanted to travel the world with your sword, with me by your side. Do you remember?”

 _Do I remember?_ Sehun feels a tear slide down his cheek. Then:

“Yes, I remember.”

“And here I am, by your side. Still am, always will be. I have a purpose to live, and that will never change for as long as you are alive. As your Chevalier, I am bound to you through blood. That’s why protecting you is so important to me.”

 

 

 

  
Sehun walks through the desolate estate, looks at the crumbling walls and broken windows. Jongin follows silently behind him.

“That tower…”

The empty structure calls out to him, and Sehun takes a step forward.

As his foot meets the ground, an image of fire flashes across his mind. Gasping, he stops in his tracks.

“Fire –”

Another flash: everything he sees right now is in flames.

Spinning around, Sehun tries to look for Jongin, but all he can see is red, and all he can feel is heat. It’s as though every cell in his body has been doused in accelerant and set on fire.

  
Everything is in flames, and there are bodies strewn all around. And in the midst of the blaze, Sehun sees his own face, complete with blue eyes and striking white hair.

 

 

 

  
There’s a steady arm around his shoulders when Sehun pulls himself out of his memory. Suddenly drained, Sehun slumps against Jongin’s side.

“He killed everyone here,” Sehun whispers. “Killed my family.”

“Sixte never had the life you did,” Jongin tells him. “He grew up in an orphanage, alone despite the sheer amount of kids, and neglected. So when he found out where his twin brother lived, the one family member he has, he came looking. He spent a few weeks hidden in that tower, and you found him one day, during one of your explorations. He saw the light in your eyes, Sehun. Saw your joy. He got jealous.”

“He drained the life out of everyone I loved,” Sehun mumbles. “Took their blood.”

“And now, he’s after yours. He knows that your desire to kill him rivals his desire to kill you. His new Chiropteran army serves two purposes: to bring him power and to draw you to him. He knows you won’t be able to ignore the civilian lives at stake, and as you chase after his army, you’ll inevitably end up at his doorstep.”

“He’s right,” Sehun says, straightening. Jongin releases his hold on him almost immediately. “We’ll play by his books.”

Jongin nods.

 

 

 

  
On the flight back, Sehun turns to Jongin and asks a question.

“What happened to your left hand?”

Jongin glances down. “You don’t remember?”

Sehun shakes his head. Jongin smiles sadly.

“It’s better if you don’t.”

 

 

 

  
Over the next four months, Sehun finds himself living with the members of Exodus, spending most of his days training with Jongin and relearning how to wield his katana.

Every three days, Sehun receives a blood transfusion with Jongin’s blood. It strengthens him, and every transfusion brings his speed, strength, and agility closer towards the level it was before his last Long Sleep. He’s not supposed to need Jongin’s blood, he learns, but he was awakened prematurely from his Long Sleep, and thus messed up the intricacies of the process. As a result, he’d woken up with his memory gone, and his Chiropteran abilities dormant.

Sehun knows that Jongin’s been with him for a long time, knows that they’re important to each other. But to what extent? They can’t be _that_ close, Jongin only spends time with him when necessary (i.e. training), and apart from that, he’s nowhere to be seen. Sehun also notices that Jongin doesn’t speak much; not just to him, but to everyone else as well. He’ll answer a question when asked, and ask a question when necessary, but casual conversation is almost always off the table.

It’s weird, because the present Jongin doesn’t match up with the one in his recovered memories. Where did all the smiles and laughter go?

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Sehun mutters one night. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he accepts the scabbard that Jongin’s holding out to him.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m forgetting something really important,” Sehun sighs, setting aside the katana. “But I just can’t figure out what it is.”

“Give it time,” Jongin suggests. “It’ll come back to you.”

 

 

 

  
Sure enough, it comes back to Sehun just a couple of weeks later.

He’s sparring with Jongin again, rivulets of sweat running down his back and chest before finally getting absorbed by his shirt.

“You’ve improved drastically,” Jongin praises, managing to parry a blow in the nick of time.

Sehun doesn’t let up, swinging his katana with sharp precision, blade aiming for the curve of Jongin’s throat. Jongin, of course, blocks the blow, but the sheer force of Sehun’s swing manages to push the Chevalier back a few times.

“Thanks,” Sehun pants, tucking his elbow into his side. “You’ve trained me well.”

“You’re just relearning things that you’ve forgotten,” Jongin says, nodding as Sehun parries an attack easily.

“I didn’t just forget how to fight,” Sehun grunts in exertion, “I’ve forgotten that I’ve ever done this.”

That statement throws Jongin’s focus completely off kilter, and Sehun manages to land a hit. The steel slices through Jongin’s sleeve and splits his skin open.

Jongin exclaims in surprise, hand coming up to press against his wound. It’ll heal in less than a minute, so he’s not too worried about it.

“Well, this is a great example of why you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted while in combat,” he quips, watching as the edges of the wound start to fuse together, leaving behind a smooth, unmarred patch of skin.

But when Sehun doesn’t reply, Jongin looks up and sees his Queen staring back at him with sheer horror in his eyes.

“I hurt you,” Sehun rasps, knuckles turning ghostly white as his grip on his katana tightens.

“It’s just a little cut,” Jongin says, “and it’s already healed. Look.”

Sehun ignores the arm that Jongin extends, instead reaching out for his other arm. The bandages around Jongin’s hand are starting to unfurl, and Sehun unravels them easily.

“I hurt you,” Sehun repeats, staring down at the inhuman hand held between his own.

“... You remember.”

Yes, he remembers. Sehun remembers the taste of Jongin’s blood, the fury of having been awoken much too soon, the thirst for blood, the need to slaughter, the plea of desperate humans to save them. He remembers his destructive rampage through a Vietnamese village, remembers soldiers and Chiropterans alike falling at a single slash of his sword. He remembers killing the very people he was supposed to help, remembers being unable to control himself, remembers cutting half of Jongin’s arm cleanly off when he had tried to stop him. He remembers collapsing in the middle of the bloodied battlefield, landing on still-warm corpses, eyes sliding shut.

He doesn’t remember anything else after that.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he hears Jongin say through the fog filling up in his ears.

The absurdity of that statement brings Sehun back to his senses, and he rounds on Jongin incredulously. “ _Not my fault?_ I massacred that village, Jongin. I wasn’t able to control myself, and I killed everyone there. I nearly killed _you_!”

“You weren’t supposed to be woken up then; I was supposed to make sure you slept through your Long Sleep without any disturbances. But I was the one who let them take my blood, I let them wake you up even though I knew that forcing a Queen out of his or her Long Sleep is dangerous. _I_ let them. It was _my_ blood. I let you suffer.”

“ _You’re_ suffering because of _me_.”

Jongin shakes his head. “I could never suffer because of you.”

It’s too much; everything is too much to bear. He’s done so many horrible things, and he needs to leave, needs to –

A firm tug on his arm forces Sehun to spin around, and he finds his face buried in Jongin’s shoulder, a hand pressed against the back of his head and another wound around his waist.

“The only thing that can hurt me is if you are hurting,” Jongin whispers. Sehun feels Jongin’s words ruffle his hair. “So please, don’t hurt any longer.”

Sehun fists his fingers into the material of Jongin’s shirt and holds on for dear life.

 

 

 

  
“If you don’t shut the fuck up and listen to me, I’m going to give you a water gun instead of an actual one.”

Chanyeol immediately tries to argue, and the glint in Kyungsoo’s eyes screams _danger!_ , so Sehun picks up his breakfast and scurries outside. Getting caught in the crossfire is not on his to-do list today.

Stepping out onto the roof, Sehun spies Yixing sitting by the edge, feet swinging slightly.

“Good morning,” Yixing says cheerfully. “Slept well?”

“Not really,” Sehun admits, settling down next to the tech whiz and taking a bite of his breakfast sandwich. “Couldn’t fall asleep.”

Yixing gives him a sympathetic look. “Try and get as much rest as you can; we’ve only got a week left before we have to set out. Hmm, maybe we should up your dosage of Jongin’s blood this week, just in case.”

“That’s okay,” Sehun says, “I don’t want to keep troubling Jongin for his blood.”

“It’s his duty as your Chevalier, you know. To take care of you, make sure you’re safe.”

“Yeah, but having a duty doesn’t mean that it’s pleasant.”

“Anything that he can do that benefits you makes him happy,” Yixing remarks, turning back to look at the horizon. “The jab of a needle is nothing to him as long as you’re okay. It’s sweet, really, how much he’s devoted to you and how much he loves you.”

A large chunk of scrambled eggs drop onto his lap, but Sehun ignores it.

“What?”

Yixing looks at him, surprised. “You still don’t remember that? I thought that would’ve been one of the first things you’d have remembered. Yeah, he loves you. You two have been together since pretty much forever.”

“... How could I not remember that?”

“I don’t know,” Yixing admits. “You should try your best to remember, though. From what little Jongin has told us, it seems as if you guys shared some pretty amazing memories. Ah, I can’t even begin to imagine how he’s feeling, seeing as you don’t remember.”

Sehun sets his remaining food aside. He doesn’t have an appetite anymore.

 

 

 

  
There’s a knock on his door, and Jongin turns around to see Sehun standing in the doorway, looking extremely troubled.

“Is something the matter?” Jongin asks, instantly hurrying to Sehun’s side.

“How long have you been with me?”

“We first met a little over a century ago,” Jongin answers, eyebrows knotting together in slight confusion.

“And how long have we been together?”

“I don’t understand,” Jongin says slowly. “Is that not the same question?”

Sehun, feeling incredibly nervous for some reason, doesn’t know how else to explain himself. So he settles for the next best thing. Reaching out, he slides a shaky hand around the base of Jongin’s skull and pulls him closer. Bending down, Sehun leans close enough to brush their lips together, heart pounding behind his eyes, ribcage, throat.

“How long,” Sehun says again, “have we been together?”

Jongin closes his eyes. His heart is equal parts heartache and joy.

“For almost a century.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jongin pulls away and brushes Sehun’s hair out of his eyes. “This isn’t something I wanted to remind you of. I wanted you to love me again out of your own heart and mind. If you didn’t remember us, what we had, then reminding you would just be unfair to the both of us. Do you remember now?”

“No,” Sehun admits, “but I want you to make me.”

The Chevalier takes a step back. “Then I respectfully decline, Sehun. I don’t –”

“Just one kiss,” Sehun interrupts. “Kiss me how you would kiss me if I had remembered everything.”

Something flashes across Jongin’s face; a hint of desire, pain, and inner conflict.

“Please.”

That seems to do the trick, as Jongin closes the distance between them once more, gaze falling down towards Sehun’s mouth. Sehun nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand presses firmly against the small of his back, chest ending up flush against his Chevalier’s. Jongin buries fingers into Sehun’s hair and pulls.

Jongin may be just that much shorter, but Sehun feels completely surrounded by him right now. Everything he sees, feels, smells – everything screams Jongin.

Then, Jongin’s lips are a firm pressure against his own, gently coaxing, and Sehun’s eyes slam shut. As Jongin’s tongue flits into his mouth, curling around his own, Sehun’s mind seems to finally allow the last wall to crumble.

He remembers the day he’d confessed to Jongin, not long after he’d made Jongin his Chevalier. A cello sits between Jongin’s legs, the bow in his hand, and there’s a smile playing along his the curve of his lips. Sehun remembers thinking that his smile is probably the most exquisite piece of music out there.

He remembers the day Jongin had pushed him up against the wall of the servants’ hallway, the space around them illuminated by a single candle. He remembers how Jongin kept ahold of his jaw, slanting his face just the way he liked it, the angle perfect for a furious make out session.

He remembers Jongin’s hands eliciting bruises from his pale skin, from the way they’d press into his hipbones to the way Jongin’s nails would dig into his flesh. He remembers falling apart right underneath Jongin’s solid weight and comforting presence, remembers clothes being ripped off eager bodies and tossed into corners. He remembers being filled to the brim, remembers indescribable pleasure, remembers calling out Jongin’s name, over and over and over again.

Whimpering, Sehun presses harder into Jongin’s hold, parts his lips a little wider, a silent plea for Jongin to go deeper into every inch of him. Jongin, so finely tuned to his Queen’s wants and needs, listens. He steers Sehun over to the bed, lets Sehun push the both of them over onto the surface, lets Sehun roll him onto his back. The whole time, he continues kissing his Queen, getting his fill of the taste that is uniquely Sehun’s.

After a few moments, Sehun breaks the kiss. Gasping for air, his wide eyes lock with Jongin’s silently searching ones. He sees their past swimming in the depths of Jongin’s eyes, sees the hope, the yearning for a future together. For the past few months, he couldn’t give that to Jongin, couldn’t give him the love and devotion that he deserves. But now that he’s not missing any part of himself any longer, Sehun can.

He reaches for the buttons of Jongin’s shirt, skin tingling, but Jongin stops him with a hand around his wrists.

“I think you should wait,” Jongin says. “Your memory just came back, you need time to adjust to all these new memories.”

“We’re going to be fighting for our lives in a week, Jongin. You might be able to wait, but I can’t. I’ve wasted years without you, and you want me to wait?”

“I’ve waited just as long,” Jongin reminds him quietly. “At least you couldn’t remember.”

Sehun flinches. “You’re right. You have. I’m sorry.”

“Tomorrow,” Jongin promises. “If you’ll wait until tomorrow, I’ll give you whatever you want. I live to please you, after all.”

Sehun agrees.

 

 

 

  
Dawn’s still a couple of hours away when Jongin hears soft knocking on his door. Jongin shuts his book – Chevaliers don’t need to sleep – and opens the door to find Sehun standing there, dressed in nothing but pyjama pants.

“Whenever I close my eyes, I either dream of how I sliced your arm off or of you fucking me into oblivion. Both scenarios render me incapable of sleeping.”

Jongin stares, speechless.

“The only way I know how to deal with the first scenario is to apologise every single day for the rest of my life. But I know you won’t accept it, so I’ve decided to just learn how to deal with it as time goes on. As for the second scenario… well, the ball is in your court for that.”

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his bare chest.

Jongin is silent for a minute, but then he stands and sighs.

“Well, I have to admit, my patience is running thin as well.”

He pulls Sehun inside, locking the door behind him. A downwards glance tells Jongin that Sehun came to him already half-hard; oh, how he’s missed seeing his Queen naked under him, calling out his name.

“Command me,” Jongin says, trying his best to keep his voice level.

It’s only when Sehun turns to face him, a ghost of smirk on his face, does Jongin know that Sehun’s truly remembered everything.

“Strip,” Sehun orders, sliding onto Jongin’s pristinely made bed. “That is an order.”

The syllables vibrate throughout his body, and Jongin’s gunmetal eyes ignite. A century ago, they had come to an agreement that despite being Jongin’s Queen, Sehun will never explicitly order Jongin to do anything unless it’s sex-related. So over the course of a hundred years, Jongin’s come to associate Sehun’s direct commands with sex, and it’s been decades since he’s heard one. It goes straight to his groin, and Jongin obeys Sehun’s command immediately.

Tossing his bedclothes aside, Jongin approaches the bed, bandaged hand reaching out to pull Sehun’s pants off.

“I command you,” Sehun breathes, pulling Jongin over him and up towards his face, “to make every inch of my body scream your name.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Their lips crash together painfully, almost drawing blood, but neither seem to care. Jongin’s unmarred hand trails down Sehun’s side, soft fingertips over equally soft skin, and Sehun’s nipples pebble almost instantly at the feather-light touch.

“Sensitive as ever,” Jongin murmurs, tongue darting out to lick the spit off his lips. A moan escapes from between Sehun’s lips when Jongin’s fingers brush over the curve of his ass.

Wetness, immediately followed by a jolt of pleasure. Sehun opens his eyes to see Jongin flicking his tongue over a nipple before sucking it into his mouth, teeth scraping around the sensitive bud.

“Mm,” Sehun sighs, body jerking as Jongin tweaks the other nipple with his finger. “More.”

His Queen wants more, so Jongin lowers his pelvis just enough for their leaking erections to brush against each other. He rocks against Sehun, letting their precum coat each other’s cocks, relishing in the sweet slide of aroused skin against skin.

Slinging a leg around sharp hips, Sehun arches up into Jongin’s lazy rutting, nails scraping down the muscles of his Chevalier’s back. Looking up through his lashes, Jongin drinks in the sight of Sehun’s face, clouded with pleasure. It’s been too long.

“A-ah,” Sehun stutters, toes curling in surprise when Jongin suddenly stops his ministrations in favour of reaching down between their bodies and wrapping delicate fingers around their cocks.

“Move your hips for me?” Jongin asks, words barely a whisper in Sehun’s ears.

Sehun complies, thrusting into Jongin’s grip as the latter reaches for the drawer of his bedside table.

“When did you – _uhhnnn_ ,” Sehun gasps. Jongin gives the slit another swipe and smiles.

“Got it when you started regaining your memory,” he says. “It hasn’t been opened yet. I had hope, and wanted to be prepared.”

Sure enough, the cap’s seal breaks as Jongin twists it open. Almost reluctantly, Jongin releases his hold on Sehun’s cock – “I shall need my good hand for this.” Smearing a few drops of lubrication around his fingers, Jongin shuffles back and presses one of Sehun’s legs back towards his chest.

“May I?”

“You may,” Sehun says, eyes trained on Jongin’s face as slick fingers press up against his entrance. When the first finger enters him, Sehun feels not sexual pleasure, but contentment. He’s finally made his way home, into the arms of the one person that will protect him, love him, be unconditionally there for him.

But of course, sexual pleasure comes crashing over him in mere seconds. Jongin knows Sehun’s body so well by now, that it takes just one try, just one crook of his finger, to get Sehun shaking bonelessly beneath him.

Before long, Sehun’s ordering Jongin to take him, voice high-strung with pleasure. When Jongin enters him, his canines elongate just enough for the tips to sink into the flesh of Jongin’s shoulder. Blood wells up immediately, scarlet beads falling onto Sehun’s tongue.

Their eyes lock, blazing silver clashing with steely blue, gazes unwavering as Jongin pushes deeper, snaps his hips harder, Chiropteran claws nearly puncturing the skin of Sehun’s thigh. The taste of Jongin’s blood drives Sehun over the edge, thighs clamping down on Jongin’s sides, heels pulling the man deeper into him as he shudders through his release.

Jongin holds out, choosing to further stimulate an over-sensitive Sehun for a few minutes before finally climaxing, filling his Queen with his essence.

“I feel… powerful,” Sehun comments, running his tongue over the sharp points of his fangs. His eyes still glean a bright silver. “I haven’t felt like this in a while.”

“We haven’t done this in a while,” Jongin points out, reaching for his roll of bandages. Sehun makes a noise in his throat, and uses his body weight to turn Jongin over onto his back. A trail of come escapes from where they are still joined, but neither seem to be bothered by it.

“Leave it,” he says. “It’s a part of you. You don’t have to hide it.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Jongin says.

“I’ll always feel bad for having hurt you,” Sehun sighs, “but there’s no point hiding what we are.”

Jongin smiles slightly. “Yes, my Queen.”

 

 

 

  
“After Sehun’s done feeding, we will depart,” Minseok announces, doing a final check of his weapons. Yixing tosses them mic and earbud packs.

“The earbuds also have GPS trackers built into them. They’ve all been checked to make sure they work,” Yixing says. “I’ll be monitoring all the channels and cameras from here.”

“These bullets are filled with Sehun’s blood,” Kyungsoo says, placing magazine after magazine of bullets onto the table. “Take as many as you can carry. A headshot would be the most effective way to use these; shooting anywhere else will give them the chance to rip the injured limb off before the blood can spread throughout their system.”

Sehun releases Jongin from his grip, cleans the wound on Jongin’s neck with a swipe of his tongue, and licks the last drop of blood off a fang. Ever since that night a week ago, he’s chosen to stay in his Chiropteran form for most of the time – n the beginning, his fangs had unnerved a few of the team members, but they’ve started to get used to it. Likewise, Jongin keeps his Chiropteran arm free of bandages.

“I’m done,” Sehun says. “Let’s go.”

 

 

 

  
“Sixte will likely not engage in battle unless all his Chevaliers have been defeated,” Chanyeol’s voice rasps through their earpieces. “He’s a lazy fucker. Anyway, there are three floors to their hideout. Their recently created team of elite Chiropterans are on the second. Chevaliers are roaming about; Mikael is the only one by his side; they’re on the roof.”

“Remember, there are five Chevaliers!” Baekhyun chimes in. “Knox is arguably the hardest to kill.”

“Let’s give my dear brother a taste of his own medicine,” Sehun mutters, katana drawn. After a glance to his right to make sure Jongin’s ready by his side, Sehun leaps out of their helicopter and down towards the island that his twin brother has been using as a laboratory. Jongin follows suit, wings extending as he soars down to grab onto Sehun’s arm.

Kyungsoo jumps next, safely strapped into his parachute.

“Jongdae, you’re up – _why are you shirtless?_ ”

Jongdae looks at Minseok quizzically. “Clothes get in the way,” he says, as if Minseok should clearly know that by now.

Sighing, Minseok pinches the bridge of his nose and shoves Jongdae out of the helicopter. Jongdae tumbles out into the air with an indignant yelp.

Everyone lands safely, weapons drawn. On this relatively flat landscape, it doesn’t take long for Chiropterans to spot them.

“We’ll take care of the ones out here,” Kyungsoo says, landing a blood bullet straight between the eyes of an approaching Chiropteran. “You two get inside.”

“There should be a door to the left of the building,” Yixing says. “Take that door and go down the stairs. I’m afraid you cannot access the roof via any other means except going through the interior of the building.”

Sehun and Jongin sprint over to the side of the building, and find the door exactly where Yixing said it would be. It’s locked, but Jongin kicks it down without any difficulty. They’re descending the stairs when static crackles from speakers.

“Well well well, if it isn’t my dear brother,” a deceptively sweet voice says, words staticky. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. How was Vietnam? I quite liked the show you put on there. Too bad I wasn’t able to witness it in person.”

Ignoring the jest, Sehun continues down the stairs. The door at the end opens to the labs interior.

“You’re currently on the second floor; the third door on the left of the hallway you’re in right now will take you up to the roof,” Yixing says.

The second the door bangs against the wall and rattles in its frame, every single pair of Chiropteran eyes turn to land on the pair.

Snarling, Sehun bares his fangs. “We fight until our last breaths.”

Jongin’s daggers fan out in his hands. “Of course.”

The skin of Sehun’s thumb splits open on the sharp edge of his katana. Blood flows through the groove, and he raises his sword, eyes white hot.

 

 

 

  
“Knox is dead,” Jongin pants into his mic, wincing as he peels off his coat jacket to examine the deep puncture wound in his side. “Second floor is clear.”

“First floor is clear too,” Kyungsoo replies. “We’ll rendezvous with you now.”

“Any casualties?” Baekhyun.

“Jongdae’s got a few nasty gashes to his abdomen,” Minseok drawls, “because this dumbass refuses to wear his protective gear.”

“It gets in the way!” Jongdae exclaims. His outburst is followed almost immediately with a groan of pain.

“Dumbass,” Minseok repeats.

Sehun ignores the voices in his ear as he approaches Jongin, the stone pieces that once were Knox scattered all across the ground. He forces his Chevalier to sit, before ridding him of his starched shirt. Using one of Jongin’s daggers, he slices through his palm and holds the small trickle of blood over Jongin’s wound.

Neither move until the wound is fully healed.

Leaning close, Sehun drops a gentle kiss on Jongin’s forehead.

“Alright, up we go.” Kyungsoo announces, stepping into the hallway. He doesn’t comment on their position.

“We’ll cover the third floor,” Minseok says, reloading his shotgun. “You head straight for the roof.”

 

 

 

  
His sword is hilt-deep into Mikael’s heart, but the satisfaction at watching the Chevalier harden into stone before cracking into ruby shards never came. Instead, Sehun watches in horror as Sixte places the tip of a blood soaked dagger against Jongin’s neck, the red almost blending in with the black of the night.

“You can move fast,” Sixte whispers, his words carried over to his brother with the wind. “But I can move just as fast.”

Jongin doesn’t try to fight – his blood, although a mix of Sehun’s, doesn’t affect Sixte in the slightest. Anything he does may very well get himself killed, or worse, get Sehun killed. So he stays perfectly still, trusting that his Queen will know what to do. The worst case scenario? At least death will be quick.

“You killed my family,” Sehun hisses, eye glinting dangerously. He pulls the blade out of Mikaek’s body and fills the groove with more blood.

“Your family?” Sixte asks, mock confusion painted liberally across his face. “But I am your family. I am your _only_ family, and you abandoned me.”

“I didn’t have a say in our separation,” Sehun snarls, taking a step closer. Sixte raises an eyebrow and presses the point of the bloody dagger more firmly against Jongin’s throat.

“Yet you couldn’t have come back for your only brother?”

“How could I have possibly known –”

“If you had cared for your brother,” Sixte shouts, fake pleasantness slipping off easily, “then you would’ve _tried_ to get me back!”

“I was told you were in good hands,” Sehun says quietly.

Snorting, Sixte points the dagger at Sehun. “And you believed them. Do you have any idea what it was like growing up in that place?”

Sehun shakes his head silently. Lip curling, Sixte begins to tell him of the horror he had to go through, of the lack of love he’d received, of his daily wish to simply vanish from the face of the earth. But Sehun isn’t listening. Instead, he’s deep in thought.

“The day I found out that our blood could rule the world was the day I was reborn,” Sixte continues, oblivious to his disinterested audience. “The world is going to pay for what they did to me.”

“Not if I can help it,” Sehun mutters, and in one quick movement, too fast for even Sixte to react, he plunges his blood filled katana into Jongin’s torso. Pushing the blade deep enough for it to exit Jongin’s back and pierce Sixte’s skin, Sehun watches helplessly as Jongin’s eyes light up in pain – and oh, how much Sehun hurts, too.

The door to the rooftop flies open, and Sehun vaguely registers the other members of Exodus rushing out. But he pays them no mind, preoccupied with how Jongin’s tilting forward. Pulling his sword out, Sehun tosses it aside and catches Jongin in his arms. They fall back right as Kyungsoo fires a shot, bullet soaring straight into Sixte’s eye.

The Queen crumbles in a shriek of rage as Sehun’s blood enters him through the wounds in his stomach and eye, an oddly unimpressive sound as the soundtrack to the death of a supposedly great being.

All that remains of Sixte on the rooftop are his feet, now turned to stone.

 

 

 

  
“He should be alright,” Chanyeol says, sounding extremely serious for once. Next to him, Baekhyun starts the helicopter’s rotor system, fingers deftly flipping the necessary switches. “It was your blood on the sword, not Sixte’s.”

“It should have started healing the wound the same time the wound was formed,” Baekhyun added. Looking down at the man draped across his lap, Sehun lifts the sheet of gauze on Jongin’s torso to check on the wound. They’re right, the wound’s already stopped bleeding, the blood coagulating into a thick paste. Yet, Jongin still looks rather pale, several beads of sweat clinging to strands of hair stuck to his forehead.

“I think he’s in shock,” Minseok says, peering down at Jongin. “It probably reminds him of that.” He points at Jongin’s Chiropteran arm.

“Will he turn into…”

“He shouldn’t,” Minseok answers, “there’s no regeneration of missing tissue and bones needed here, unlike what happened to his arm. The existing tissue just needs reparation.”

“Junmyeon says to get him started on a blood IV,” Yixing says through their earpieces. “Healing might take longer, especially since he’d just healed from another injury moments before. He needs the energy from the blood.”

Minseok nods and turns around to rummage in a trunk.

Sehun, his own wounds already healed, leans back against the helicopter doors. Fingers thread through Jongin’s damp hair, the katana a cool weight against his thigh.

 

 

 

  
Junmyeon turns the television on. A news channel fades in, and Sehun watches as the newscaster reports on ‘a mystifying event’: around the world, large, supernatural beasts have been turning into stone before crumbling into pieces, seemingly without any reason.

Junmyeon changes the channel; it’s another news channel, with a different newscaster reporting the same news.

“I’m going to go check on Jongin,” Sehun mumbles, rising from his chair and exiting the room.

The walk to Jongin’s room is a quiet one, one that Sehun fills with several trains of thought. They all come to a squeaking halt when he knocks on Jongin’s door.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, my wound is almost healed,” Jongin says, gesturing to his torso. The IV drip in his arm swings along with his movement.” Sehun tries not to stare at the redness within the tube.

“How are you feeling apart from that?”

A look of understanding flashes across Jongin’s eyes. “You’re wondering if I’m upset at the fact that you hurt me.”

Sehun shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe.”

“I’m not upset, Sehun. You did what you should have done. You saved the world. I wasn’t able to protect you, but you didn’t need me to.”

“But –”

“I want to apologise for not being able to fight for you the entire time,” Jongin continues. “But from now on I promise I will do my very best.”

“You’ve always been doing your best, Jongin. I really couldn’t ask for more.”

Jongin smiles softly. Rising from his seat, Sehun leans down and presses his lips to Jongin’s forehead.

“I’ll let you get some more rest,” he says, inhaling the scent of Jongin’s hair. “I’ll come by again later.”

Jongin’s hand latches onto Sehun’s wrist. “Stay.”

So Sehun stays. Jongin doesn’t usually sleep, but he does this time, dozing off to the warmth of Sehun’s body pressed against his side, to the soothing strokes of fingers in his hair. This time, Sehun is the one who stays awake and keeps watch.

 

 

 

  
“So what now?” Baekhyun asks, shoving a chunk of Junmyeon’s famous apple pie into his mouth.

Junmyeon peers up from his tablet. “Now, we continue working with Sehun and Jongin. There are corporations who have heard about the abilities of Chiropterans and wish to create their own; some want defensive armies, some want to terrorise. But in order to do any of that, they require a Queen’s blood.”

“So now we’re defending,” Chanyeol states, reaching out and stealing the last of Baekhyun’s pie. “Until Sehun goes into his next Long Sleep, right?”

Baekhyun flings a dollop of cream onto Chanyeol’s face in retaliation.

“There’s more pie in the kitchen, stop being such imbeciles,” Kyungsoo groans, managing to stop Chanyeol from starting a food fight by glaring a hole into his skull.

Jongdae, from his inclined position on the couch, nudges Minseok with his foot.

“Mind getting some pie for me? My wounds are too grievous. Can’t move.”

“They’re not, stop trying to capitalise on them,” Minseok says, rolling his eyes. But he gets Jongdae a slice of pie anyway.

 

Two days later, everyone jolts awake to the sound of machine gun fire.

“Alright,” Chanyeol announces blearily, voice still raspy with sleep. “Time to go on defense mode.”

By the time they head outside to the cargo yard, Sehun and Jongin are already engaged in battle, blades drawn and eyes ablaze. The Chevalier’s wound is just about healed, but it’s clear that Sehun’s keeping a closer eye on him than usual.

The pair run through a storm of bullets as if they’re taking a stroll through a summer drizzle. Jongin is always a step behind Sehun, always watching his Queen’s back, always doing his utmost best to make sure nothing bad befalls him. Sehun is always a step ahead of Jongin, always fighting for their survival, always doing his best to make sure Jongin never has to suffer for him.

Bullets sink into their flesh only to find themselves slowly pushed out, covered in nothing, save for a drop of blood or two that are soon contaminated by dirt on the ground. They fight, metal cutting into muscle and bone, for their future. 

**Author's Note:**

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